Looking up through the leaves at the dappled sunlight filtering through, he continued to fan the perspiration across his forehead. It changes. That was his thought at that moment. If he had been pressed for more of an explanation, he probably would have added the word everything. Even this tree had changed in the fifty years since he had first seen it. It was difficult for him to admit to those changes—that they weren’t always for the best. This tree, for example, wasn’t as full and lush. Some of the bigger branches had fallen, victim of old age or lightning. There used to be more trees, more animals, more everything. But, he could still see it as it used to be. His mind was clear and sharp.
He sat under the tree—as he and Ruth had done so many times before—letting the sounds of nature and peace drift over him. Yes, everybody should have a tree like this, he decided; to sit under; to watch the clouds; to simply dream.
Closing his eyes, he stood quietly and listened. There it was—the birdcalls from the thickets and the berry patches. Now that he had quit moving around so much and the coughing fit subsided, the birds came back. Bees buzzed around the little white flowers dotted here and there on the overgrown path. The breeze rustled the tall weeds around him, making a light sh sh sh sound. The leaves overhead flashed light green to dark green to light green again as the breeze turned them this way and that.
He quit fanning now as the breeze picked up. His hat was placed negligently off to the side, next to the shovel and the odd, grey, elongated capsule he had brought in the rented car. A few clouds began drifting by. He knew his Midwest. There would be a few more clouds, blindingly white at first. After a while, the white underside would darken. The formations would get taller, bumping into each other, crowding the blue sky. The breeze would pick up. The sun would come and go and, finally, just disappear. The heat would remain, but the first few drops would feel refreshing. More drops would follow. Within minutes, a gigantic bucket would be overturned from the sky. A brilliant white flash of jagged light would be followed almost immediately by a loud BOOM! There was no need to count after the lightning to see how far away it was. It was there.
With a wistful sigh for the now and for the past, he got stiffly to his feet. He wouldn’t have much time before the storm hit. Enough, though. The rain was good. It would cover what he was about to do very nicely. Just what I would have written into the plot, he chuckled to himself as he marked off the distance and the shovel bit into the soft soil.
2002
By Monday afternoon there was a stack of library books on Adam’s coffee table all about Walt Disney and his life. Lance was speed-reading through his second book. Adam, holding a book in his left hand, was making notes with his right hand. He glanced up, disgusted and jealous, as Lance turned yet another page. As he watched, Lance’s finger trailed back and forth across the rows of print, down one side, back upwards to check a certain word, then down again and over to the next page. Estimated time of arrival at next page: twenty seconds.
Adam shook his head. “How do you get anything out of it when you read like that?” Irritated, he was only on the fourth chapter of his first book. “And you aren’t taking any notes!”
“Just a sec.” Lance’s finger slowed down a split second, then finished the page. “End of chapter. Sorry. What?” His concentration now broken by Adam’s interruption, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. They had been at it for hours.
Frustrated by his own lack of progress at this point, Adam had expected to find the answer to the riddle quickly. True, the notes he was taking would probably come in handy later—whether for this treasure hunt or just for his own edification. But he was taking it seriously. And he expected his partner in this enterprise to be equally serious. Speed reading did not equal serious in his mind. But, he tried to justify, Lance was here and Lance was doing research. He was helping. He had a vested interest in this too.… Not that Lance needed the money….
“What did you ask?” Lance’s words broke into Adam’s distracted thoughts.
“Do you really get anything out of a book when you read like that?” Adam didn’t mean to sound snippy, but it still came out that way.
Lance was taken aback by the tone of voice. He knew what he was doing, what he was capable of understanding. Slowly closing the book, he held his finger in the pages to mark his place. “Yes,” he answered shortly. He could tell by the look on Adam’s face that he hadn’t meant it that way. “Would you like a quick rundown of what I’ve found?” Without waiting for Adam to answer or recant, he launched into a dissertation in vivid detail of Walt’s early studio beginnings in Kansas City in 1920 up to and including the move to Hollywood in 1923, adding the names of the projects worked on during that time, the key animators, actors, failures, successes, backers, and opponents.
Stunned, Adam just sat there. It was far more than he had in his notes. It was a different time period than he was studying, but it was still good information.
Lance was just showing off. Still, he also knew he was—and would be—contributing to this joint effort. It would be counterproductive to have his methods questioned over and over. “Satisfied?” His question was deceptively calm.
“Uhm, yeah, I…that was impressive.” Stammering, Adam sounded lame. He knew he had been out of line.
Lance let him off the hook. “Well, it got me through Harvard.” His remark was mumbled as he picked up his book to continue.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Adam held up his hand. “You went to Harvard? Then what were you doing at Cal State when I met you?”
The book dropped again. “I was finally enjoying life.” The last question was answered first. “I didn’t care for law school. It wasn’t what I wanted to do.”
More news. “Law school?” Adam’s eyes narrowed at this new piece of Lance Information. “How far did you get?”
“Far enough to know that wasn’t how I wanted to spend my life.” And Father hasn’t forgiven me yet, he thought. And he never will, he reminded himself. Breaking Sacred Tradition did not equal family honor. “Cal State suited.”
Adam didn’t want to let this go that easily. He had known Lance for what? Close to eight years now? And he never had even a hint of his life before California. Adam was intrigued. Oh, he knew Lance had “money.” That was obvious from his, well, everything about him. His townhouse. His car. The way he wore his clothes. The way he carried himself. All this had been pointed out to Adam by an ex-girlfriend of his. He, of course, hadn’t thought much about Lance or where he came from before he suddenly appeared in California in their fraternity house. Guys don’t do that. But his ex had been intrigued by Adam’s tall, dimpled friend. She had pointed out the traits she saw in Lance, and now, after this revelation, they made sense. What she had called him—to his face no less—‘Sir Lancelot’ and ‘Frat Boy’ and ‘Pampered Poodle’ made sense, too, in a twisted sort of way. Man, how those two had loved to verbally spar at each other! When Lance threw a ‘Gold Digger’ or a ‘Grudge’ right back at her, the repartee had reduced both of them into a laughing heap.
Adam’s face had changed as Lance watched and waited for the next onslaught of questions he knew would come. But now Adam seemed to be on a different mental track, not that Lance minded. He didn’t really want to delve into his past and the problems with his father. Lance had made his choice and he was happy and satisfied. His father would have to learn.… Well, he doubted his father would ever learn anything about his wayward son. Time wounds all heels, he smiled to himself.
“Pampered Poodle.” The phrase abruptly came out of Adam’s memory.
“Excuse me?” Lance’s eye narrowed, not sure he heard his friend right. There were limits within friendships.
Oops. Bad reaction. “I just remembered a verbal war you used to have with someone. You used to enjoy it.” Adam felt he had to defend himself yet again.
Lance now realized where Adam’s mind had taken him. Adam wasn’t making a slur about him—even though he was treading on dangerous personal ground for himself. Lance relaxed
. “I enjoyed bantering with her, yes. She was allowed. You are not.” Lance thought back to the missing person of their former trio. He really missed the feisty little brunette. Adam was such an idiot sometimes.… “You sure you want to go to Memoryland?” Adam’s break-up had been difficult for a lot of people.
With a frown, Adam shook his head. Too many memories had flooded back at the remembrance of those soft-sided insults she and Lance used to fling at each other so often. No, he didn’t want to go there. It was bad enough every time he went to Disneyland. That was where he felt her the most.… He had to stop. That was the past. He had made it that way and he was stuck with it. Mooning around wouldn’t help. He had a Dreaming Tree to find.
“Sorry.” Adam gave a mumbled apology as he picked up his book again. “One thing just led to another. I take it you didn’t find anything about botany or a tree?”
Mollified that the personal questions seemed to have come to an end, Lance’s good nature took over. “No, not yet. I don’t think I’m studying the right time frame. This might all come in handy later, but I don’t see it leading to where we need to go.”
“What are you thinking? Earlier or later in his life?”
Lance slowly shook his head. “Not sure. It kind of sounds like a cartoon plot, but I couldn’t find a reference anywhere that sounded right. If he wants us to go on a journey, do you think we should start at the very beginning?”
“You are researching the early studio days. I am in the early days of Disneyland, but coming up empty, too.”
“We must be on the wrong track.” Lance was getting disappointed with their lack of progress. “The diary did say we’d have to work for it.”
Adam gave a little chuckle. “Maybe the shovel he mentioned was both figurative and literal. Well, we know we have to focus on dates before 1966 when he died. Still, there’s a lot of ground to cover.”
“Probably also both figurative and literal.” Lance gave a brilliant smile. “And two feet down. Maybe we should choose the book two feet down in your huge pile here.”
Adam shrugged. It was as good an idea as any. “Which book would that be?” He eyeballed the pile. Being a General Contractor, he was used to looking at something and knowing how long or how tall or how wide it was. He rarely missed, and then it was only by an inch or two. “Try the red-covered book, under those.” Adam pointed to a stack of books in the middle of the coffee table.
It turned out to be a history of the Disneyland Park, full of glossy pictures of all the rides. “Don’t think that will do it,” as he thumbed through it. “Back to what we were doing before I was so rudely interrupted?”
Adam was glad to see the good-humored smile on Lance’s face. The last thing he needed was to be left alone with this mountain of books to go through. “Sure thing, boss. Hey, are there any fries left in that bag?” He should have known better.
“No, I ate them all. I could heat up this catsup packet for you and make soup.”
“Thanks, no.” Adam got back into his book and forgot about food. He knew Walt wasn’t exactly a scientific person, so a reference to botany was unusual. Still, nature did play a big part in Walt’s work—all the way back to the Silly Symphonies and Flowers and Trees. That was around 1932. It would be the first Silly Symphony to be made in color and would go on to win an Academy Award. He switched his reading to write-ups about that era.
Still no luck, Adam thought as he read paragraph after paragraph about Walt. While he knew a lot of Walt’s history, this in-depth study was far more enlightening to Adam than what he previously read. It was fascinating reading about the change from black and white cartoons to color and the problems Walt had both within and outside his company trying to convince everyone that the change was a good idea. But, it was pure Walt. He went ahead with his idea and just did it. It was well known that when Walt met with resistance to an idea, he honestly believed that those who resisted the idea simply couldn’t see it from his perspective. He left financing to his brother Roy who was not only responsible with money, he communicated the financing situations so that Walt had a reasonable understanding of limitations due to the lack of funds. However, even such understandings often were scoffed at by Walt as minor issues. Roy shouldered such questions as: Should the company go public? Should they accept a loan from the company that invented the color process for fifty percent interest in the studio? An investment banker in New York? It was exciting reading.
When he realized he was reading just to read the story, Adam had to pull back. He knew what he was looking for wasn’t there. Back in time or forward? That seemed to be the question of the day. Lance had started at 1920 and the garage studio in Kansas City, Missouri. That was pretty far back. That was the beginning studio where Walt would practice his cartooning. Farther back than Kansas City? That would bring them to Marceline, Missouri, Walt’s boyhood home he loved so dearly that it colored his perspective of hometown life forever. What years would that be? Adam thumbed back through his book. 1906 to 1911. Can’t get much farther back than that. Walt had been born in 1901.
Might as well begin at the beginning, Adam told himself as he closed the book he had been reading and reached for a different one. With a fresh page of notepaper, Adam settled back and began reading.
Tuesday morning began with problems on a remodel that Adam had to handle in person. As a General Contractor, his business was full of frustrating situations. Just when Adam wanted time to spend on this new, exciting adventure, he got pulled away to deal with a homeowner who had changed her mind—again.
Lance let himself into Adam’s apartment with the key Adam had given him. After a quick raid of the refrigerator, Lance sat back on the familiar sofa and picked up yet another book. As he sat there looking at it, his eyes began to throb from just reading the cover. He felt they were getting closer but just couldn’t bring himself to open the book. Glancing around the living room, his eyes stopped at Adam’s computer. They hadn’t done any research on the computer yet. Might be worth it, he figured.
Not familiar with Adam’s computer, he allowed himself some getting acquainted time to see what programs were loaded and what might be of help. He found Adam’s Organizer. Grinning, he went through Adam’s appointments, resisting the urge to cancel a few for fun. Instead, he added a daily alarm that would go off at 7 p.m. every day: “Feed Lance.” Pulling up the PhoneBook, Lance noticed the shortage of women listed inside. He added a few of his girl friends from memory, wondering if Adam would even notice. Surprised there was no password needed, Lance did a quick run-through of Adam’s business records. He gave a mild grunt of surprise. Adam was doing very well. Again resisting the impulse to rearrange some invoices, Lance closed the books. Being the good friend that he was, Lance left the virus killers in place. And, being the friend that he was, he turned off the spam filter.
Now refreshed, Lance settled back in Adam’s leather computer chair to get to work. He brought up his favorite search engine and typed in belly botany. The first listing was from Arkansas and described belly botany as “the study of belly flowers that are plants with a full height of one to four inches. To fully appreciate these tiny wonders, one must get down to their level by lying on your stomach.” Charming, Lance muttered to himself. Other links were full of flowers photographed from a low level. Next were encyclopedia listings, prayer meetings for botanists, and universities that offered degrees in botany. Travel sites proclaimed to be the best in belly botany adventures. There was an exhibition two years earlier there in California and a photo competition upcoming in Colorado. Lance groaned and wondered if this computer searching was such a good idea after all.
It wasn’t until page eight of those search pages that he spotted a reference to Walt. He almost missed it as it scrolled by mixed in with all the other listings. With a sense of excitement, he pulled up the article. It had been written by someone who had made a pilgrimage to Walt’s hometown of Marceline, Missouri. She had been thrilled to find that Walt’s Dreaming Tree was still standing and
described in flowery prose how Walt and his little sister Ruth had spent hours and hours of their childhood sitting and dreaming under this particular cottonwood tree. As an adult, Walt himself had used the term belly botany to describe their pleasant musings under that tree; how they would watch the insects and animals around them and later he would use this as inspirations in his animated films.
Alert now, Lance wanted to make sure this article defined the tree and the cipher Walt was referring to. It sure sounded right, but Lance wasn’t one to rest on one laurel. He now typed Dreaming Tree and added Disney to the search. He came up with the same link plus many more describing the same events and, most importantly, the same place in Walt’s early life. He even found a picture of the huge cottonwood tree. It was taken from a great distance away barely showing two people standing nearby. The text said this was a picture of both Walt and Roy when they had visited their hometown in the early 1960’s for the dedication of the town’s swimming pool.
Bingo. Without waiting for Adam, Lance brought up his favorite travel site and booked a flight for two to Marceline the next day. Adam would have to work out his construction problem today. He was flying out tomorrow and would be back late Friday afternoon. That should give them plenty of time.
Sometimes Dead Men DO Tell Tales! Page 6
